


we were different people then (that's what they tell us)

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, non-graphic dismemberment, wen ning gets patched up though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: After Wen Ning suffers an accident, the nearest place to go for help is the Qinghe Nie sect; but Nie Huaisang has his own history with the Ghost General.





	we were different people then (that's what they tell us)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a kiss meme prompt from tumblr user [mizuri-yuruseno](https://mizuri-yuruseno.tumblr.com/): "as a promise" or "as a comfort" for Nie Huaisang/Wen Ning. I ended up kind of going in both directions!

The Qinghe Nie sect is not so remote that it receives _no_ visitors, but roaming cultivators who need a place to spend the night or envoys on official business are nevertheless somewhat of a rarity, so much so that Nie Huaisang has asked to be notified when it does happen. He doesn’t always greet them personally, of course - as sect leader there is always some business or another that needs his attention, and in the months since Jin Guangyao’s death that has only become more true - but these particular guests deserve his special courtesy.

“Young Master Jin.” Nie Huaisang smiles, putting down the calligraphy brush as Jin Ling leads two Gusu Lan sect disciples into the room. “And this must be Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. Welcome, welcome - to what do I, ah, owe this pleasure?”

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi make perfect and slightly less-perfect salutes as Jin Ling folds his arms and nods stiffly. “Sect Leader Nie,” he says. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Nie Huaisang beams. “It’s no trouble, no trouble at all.” It’s no secret that the young Jin sect leader likes to night-hunt in the hills surrounding Lanling, although it is a bit of a surprise that he’s strayed this far north. He must have had a spectacular fight with Jiang Wanyin. Nie Huaisang pauses. “Does - does the Ghost General no longer travel with you?”

Lan Sizhui’s face creases with worry, and Lan Jingyi elbows Jin Ling with what Nie Huaisang is sure is an attempt at subtlety.

“You said you’d ask him,” Lan Jingyi hisses. Nie Huaisang maintains his pleasant expression as Jin Ling’s face grows more thunderous and he elbows Lan Jingyi back.

“I _will_ ,” he says. He sucks in a breath and blows it out again, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jin Ling says reluctantly. “There’s a - a problem with the Ghost General.”

* * *

Wen Ning has ensconced himself at the base of a towering pine. In the dim evening light he blends in with the trunk, especially as unmoving as he’s sitting. His head is bent forward, long dark hair covering his face and his hands resting on the ground in front of his crossed legs.

Nie Huaisang sees the problem immediately.

“How did this happen?” His steps quicken despite himself and he kneels before Wen Ning, just out of reach - not, of course, that that’s particularly relevant at the moment. There’s the shuffling of feet and what sounds like a low-pitched whisper-fight begins him, and then - 

“It was an accident,” Lan Sizhui says firmly, and the other two mumble their agreement. Nie Huaisang can only imagine what their faces look like; he’s focused on Wen Ning, who slowly raises his eyes to meet Nie Huaisang’s.

“Usually if he loses a limb he can just reattach it. But - well,” Lan Sizhui says, coming to kneel next to him. He picks up one of Wen Ning’s hands from where it sits on the ground and attempts to shove it against the clean-cut stump that ends Wen Ning’s forearm. The hand sits limply in Lan Sizhui’s gasp. “It doesn’t seem to work the same when we do it.”

“I can see that,” Nie Huaisang says.

“Jin Ling said you could surely help him. He’s the one that brought us here,” Lan Jingyi jumps in, and then adds in a lower tone, “and it’s the least he could do.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui says sharply, and Nie Huaisang turns, leaving off watching Wen Ning. Jin Ling’s mouth is flat, his brows drawn down and his arms folded, looking off into the forest.

“You think highly of me, Jin Ling,” Nie Huaisang says, testing, and Jin Ling glances at him. His gaze is heavy and Nie Huaisang is suddenly reminded that Jin Lin was there, that night at the Guanyin temple.

Jin Ling’s face creases and Nie Huaisang pushes himself to his feet, brushing pine needles from his robes. “Bring him inside,” he says before Jin Ling can say anything. “I’ll - I’ll see what can be done.”

* * *

Nie Huaisang makes sure the young disciples are settled in his best guest quarters with assurances that he will have his best medics look at Wen Ning. All of his guest quarters are excellent, of course - but it never hurts to build ties with either the Lanling Jin _or_ the Gusu Lan sects, in whatever way that he can.

Sizhui in particular seems anxious. “Are you sure we can’t stay with him, Sect Leader Nie? I mean -” his cheeks redden. “We’re just worried about him.”

“I’ll have my best people look at the Ghost General,” Nie Huaisang promises. “But we may be up very late in doing so, and you have already had a long journey.”

“Get some sleep, Sizhui,” Jin Ling says, flopping backwards onto one of the beds. “Sect Leader Nie knows what he’s doing.”

Nie Huaisang maintains his pleasant smile, but Jin Ling just folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. That appears to be all he has to say on the subject, at least in front of Nie Huaisang.

“Indeed,” he says, moving toward the door. “Sleep well. I’ll update you in the morning.” There’s a rough chorus of “thank you, Sect Leader Nie”s behind him, and he smiles.

It drops off as soon as he shuts the door behind him, and he can feel his face settle into much more serious lines as he sets off for the infirmary.

Wen Ning sits exactly where he had left him, sideways on one of the patient beds, the stumps of his arms resting on his thighs. His hands are laid carefully on the bed next to him. He’s still, so still Nie Huaisang could think he was a statue.

“Wen Ning,” Nie Huaisang calls softly from the doorway, and Wen Ning looks up, flat black eyes filled with concern.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” he says. He lifts one arms helplessly. “I’m afraid I’m not much use like this.”

“I’m under the impression that Jin Ling and his companions can take care of themselves quite readily,” Nie Huaisang says, moving toward the cupboard to dig out a needle and tough thread.

The muscles in Wen Ning’s face move strangely, and it takes Nie Huaisang a moment to realize he’s trying to smile.

“They are all very skilled,” he agrees as Nie Huaisang comes over with his supplies. “But like all young men they can be, ah - overambitious.”

Nie Huaisang feels an answering smile tug at his mouth as he pulls up a stool and settles on it. “I’m sure it’s nothing the Ghost General can’t handle.” Wen Ning falls silent, and Nie Huaisang wonders if it’s the name that bothers him. He picks up Wen Ning’s right hand and lays it on his thigh, joining the end against the stump below his elbow.

“Hold still,” he orders, although it’s hardly necessary. Wen Ning doesn’t breathe, or twitch, or make any of the involuntary movement of the living. He appears to take Nie Huaisang’s words to heart, however, and bows his head, watching as Nie Huaisang slides the needle into his flesh.

Nie Huaisang works carefully, making sure each stitch is secure before he moves on to the next. The silence is less awkward than it could be, all things considered, until Wen Ning breaks it.

“You’re being very calm about this. About me,” he clarifies when Nie Huaisang glances up.

Nie Huaisang looks back down, securing a knot under his fingers. “Would you prefer I make a fuss and refuse to look at you?”

“It’s what most people do,” Wen Ning says quietly.

Nie Huaisang considers his answer carefully. “But you and I have history. Should I be a stranger instead?”

Wen Ning is silent for a long moment. “I wasn’t sure you remembered.”

Nie Huaisang stills his fingers and looks up. “Of course I remember.”

Nie Huaisang had been expelled from the archery contest hosted by the Qishan Wen sect almost immediately. Nie Mingjue had berated him for it later, but at the time he had been happy to wander the compound, admiring the splendor.

“I never thanked you for it,” Wen Ning says quietly. “It was my first kiss and I never even thanked you for it.”

It had been an impulse, when Nie Huaisang had come across a morose young Wen disciple of his own age, also expelled from the tournament. He had seemed so dejected, and Nie Huaisang could sympathize; he knew all too well the feeling of being unable to live up to expectations.

“It was mine as well,” he murmurs. “And I was happy to spend it on you.”

His brother would have been furious, but Nie Huaisang had reasoned that Nie Mingjue would never have to know; and besides, Wen Ning’s lips had been soft and curious and a far better way to spend an afternoon than archery, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion.

“That was a long time ago,” Wen Ning says wistfully. “We were different people then.”

“Perhaps,” Nie Huaisang says, securing a knot and turning Wen Ning’s wrist over. “Flex for me.”

“It won’t -” Wen Ning looks down in surprise as the fingers in Nie Huaisang’s grip twitch. “How -”

Nie Huaisang grins. “Spirit-binding thread. It will hold your flesh together while your spirit regains control of the lost limb.”

Wen Ning looks at his hand, and then back up at Nie Huaisang. “How did you learn so much about fierce corpses?”

Nie Huaisang bends his head back to his work. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing really. Just a - a lucky guess.”

Wen Ning hesitates. “Jin Ling sounded very sure that you would know how to fix me.”

Nie Huaisang thinks about his brother’s body, stretched out on a high table, barely held down by the weight of spirit-binding chains, thrashing as Nie Huaisang closed the gap between his neck and his head stitch by careful stitch. How he had stilled as Nie Huaisang had tied the final knot, how those milky white eyes had blinked slowly as Nie Huaisang had sat back, exhausted.

Even as a fierce corpse, Nie Mingjue hadn’t known him. But he had known vengeance, staggering off into the dark night in a straight line toward Jin Guangyao, and that had been enough.

“I’m sure you’re a better patient than most,” Nie Huaisang says without looking up. He secures the last knot on Wen Ning’s wrist. “Try again.”

Wen Ning flexes his fingers, and the response is significantly better. Nie Huaisang smiles, and reaches for the other hand. The second goes more quickly than the first, and soon Nie Huaisang is tying off the last knot there as well. Wen Ning lifts his hands as Nie Huaisang sits back, curling his fingers and staring in amazement.

“I’ll send a spool of thread along with Lan Sizhui, in case of any more...accidents,” Nie Huaisang says, busing himself with tidying up his supplies. “But you are welcome in the Qinghe Nie sect at any time.”

Wen Ning reaches out and takes one of Nie Huaisang’s hands in his own, clumsily lifting it to his mouth. The brush of his lips is dry and scratchy over the back of Nie Huaisang’s hand, and Nie Huaisang’s fingers twitch in his grasp.

“Thank you,” Wen Ning says, lifting his head to look Nie Huaisang in the eye. “For all you have done for me. I am sorry that I do not have more to offer in return, but - I won’t tell Lan Sizhui and the others.”

Nie Huaisang’s grip tightens, but he forces his voice to remain light and puzzled. “Tell them what?”

“If you wish to remain in the shadows it is not my place to move you to the sunlight,” Wen Ning says, and Nie Huaisang is suddenly reminded that Wen Ning was _also_ at the Guanyin temple that night, the night that Nie Mingjue made his appearance with his neatly stitched-on head, the night that Wei Wuxian had made his insinuations. Nothing had ever come of that - nothing has come of that _yet_ , Nie Huaisang reminds himself. There is always the long game to consider.

“I appreciate the consideration,” he says softly, squeezing Wen Ning’s fingers before withdrawing his hand. “But there is nothing to tell.”

“Of course not,” Wen Ning agrees.

Nie Huaisang smiles tightly. “It’s getting late,” he starts, moving toward the cupboard to pack the last of his supplies away.

“I’ll go,” Wen Ning says immediately, and Nie Huaisang turns in surprise.

“Go where? Your charges are asleep in my finest guest quarters.” He shuts the cupboard door. “I was _going_ to say, It’s getting late; the moonlit gardens will be in full splendor. Why don’t you sit with me awhile? You can tell me of your travels, and I can bore you with gossip of the other sects.”

Wen Ning blinks. “Are you - surely a sect leader has better things to do than spend time with me.”

Nie Huaisang smiles. “Not tonight.” He holds out his hand. “Coming?”

The hand that settles in his is heavy and cold, but it’s still Wen Ning’s. Nie Huaisang has lost too much in his life to not hold on to what he can, and when Wen Ning’s fingers curl cautiously around his Nie Huasang holds fast, and doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](https://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr or [@36SaveFiles](https://twitter.com/36SaveFiles) on Twitter!


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